


Best Worst Mistake

by bellafarallones



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M, strife and parv are both massive dorks, there is swearing and making out but nothing worse than that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3857824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellafarallones/pseuds/bellafarallones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first insults were automatic. Now, Will Strife can't imagine how he ever missed the endearing parts of Parv. (This story is loosely based around the song Best Worst Mistake from the musical If/Then, and is broken up by lyrics from the song)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Worst Mistake

_It’s not that I don't love you,_  
  


The first insults were automatic. Will wasn’t thinking straight (he wasn’t entirely sure he’d been able to think straight since), and he saw this baggage that Lewis had dumped on him through a haze of annoyance. His first instinct was to be cruel. All he saw in Parvis was incompetence. So he shot angry words, and it became a habit. He never stopped, even when his mind stopped labeling grins as _asshole_ and started calling them _roguish_. Even when he started noticing the grace in those lanky limbs.  
  


“Parv, you piece of trash.”  
  


_‘cause I don’t not love you,_  
  


Every time they touched it felt like fire. Will noticed himself becoming hyper aware of every time Parv’s arm was slung over his shoulders as he watched him work. Those sharp brown eyes could hold him frozen, and when they focused on him he stammered and forgot how to talk. Until, of course, he fell back on an insult. He could do those without thinking. If he thought about what to say his mind would undoubtedly go places he didn’t want it to go. Will wasn’t naive enough not to know what was happening.  
  


He was Will Strife. He had to be rock solid (but not in that way _god fucking damnit not again_ ). But rocks can be worn away by water, and that’s what Parv was like. He didn’t care when Will pushed him away, because he could see the weakness behind it, and if he kept coming, gently, gently…  
  


_And I'd lie to say I'm never sometimes always thinking of you_  
  


Thoughts of Parv invaded even when he wasn’t present. Every time Will hammered out a new tool or piece of armor, he imagined Parv’s reaction. Would he be impressed? Would he run his agile guitarist hands over Will’s shoulders and back as he cooed over the shiny metal, making Strife’s spine tingle (but only because he’d have to clean the bloody fingerprints off his nice new chestplate of course).  
  


Parv’s smell, like blood and clean tee-shirts, lingered as well. And the absence of him, of his arm draped casually around Will’s shoulders and the way their hips always bumped against each other when they bent over the same chest, was conspicuous.  
  


When had they started doing that? Surely in the beginning they hadn’t always been in contact or close to it.  
  


Parv, for his part, may have been an idiot, but he could confine his sappy grins to when Will wasn’t watching. And when he was alone, lying in bed, he considered Will’s silences and carefully blank expressions. His body language stood in stark contrast to his harsh words. And the harsh words were definitely getting weaker.  
  


With casual arms and hands they drew each other closer.  
  


_But when something’s deeply felt,_

_it seems shallow just to say_  
  


He shouldn’t be mean. He wasn’t supposed to be making enemies. He was supposed to be the charismatic and charming CEO who everyone likes. That was it. So Will resolved to be nice, and not to call Parv stupid or useless or any one of those words that became less applicable by the day. Now he couldn’t imagine how he had ever missed the endearing parts of Parv- the little skip in his walk, his clear brown eyes, his calloused hands, his ready smile…  
  


Will stopped that train of thought before he went further. His newfound politeness was only common decency. Nothing more.  
  


_The thing that's expected,_

_the same dull cliche_  
  


“Parv!” shouted Will as he thundered into the castle.  
  


There was no response. Will ran around the altar, and checked around the sorting system. He’d woken up to a text from Parv-  “Come over ASAP.”  
  


“Will?” Parv’s voice was coming from the bedroom. Will pushed the door open with tenative hands. Parv was lying at the foot of the bed on top of the covers, fully clothed in his usual black tee shirt and jeans. His knees were folded upwards so his long body could fit on the bottom half of the bed, and he was propping himself up on his elbows. He seemed to be uninjured.  
  


Will stood at Parv’s feet, a bit confused. “Why did you tell me to come over? Are you hurt?” As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he wished he hadn’t sounded so emotional.  
  


“I was feeling sick before, but now I’m better, Will.” Parv grinned, but it seemed almost… nervous?  
  


Strife’s first urge was to bluster and cuss. Something about wasting his valuable time. But he remembered his resolution, and bit his tongue. He hadn't said anything mean in weeks, and he didn't want to ruin it now, especially with the troubling expression on Parv’s face. Parv was never nervous.  
  


“Thank you for coming over so quickly, anyway, Will.” Parv didn’t break eye contact as his knees fell apart, revealing the seam where the two legs of his jeans were sewn together. “Were you worried about me?”  
  


Will forced himself not to look down from Parv’s eyes, as tempted as he was. He couldn’t stop the blush from creeping up into his face. Oh, what the hell. “Yeah, I guess.”  
  
Parv put his hand out to Will and looked up at him through his eyelashes. “I appreciate your concern.”  
  


Will took Parv’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled on top of him, feeling his hot breath against his cheek before their lips finally met. The smell of Parv filled Will’s nose, the strange mix of blood and guitar and detergent.  Parv wrapped his legs around Will, grinding their hips together. All the sensations that made up Parvis filled Strife’s mind, pressed up against him. His lips, cracked and dry, and the rough stubble that covered his jaw. The warmth of his skinny chest under the thin tee shirt, and his hands on Will’s shoulders and tangling in his hair. Will couldn’t feel anything but the fire of their touch raging across his skin, and he let out a soft moan.

  
When they came up for air, the first thing Will saw was the smile on Parv’s face.


End file.
